


and the rest is rust and stardust

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Daddy Kink, Daddy!Scratch, Humanstuck, I have a problem, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eridan is a prostitute. Doc Scratch is his client. Everything is status quo until it's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the rest is rust and stardust

**Author's Note:**

> Daddy!Scratch is my new favorite thing. Title from 'Lolita' by Vladimir Nabokov

You’re waiting at the bus stop, wearing your USC sweatshirt, shoulders hunched against the cold wind. Taxicabs, vans, party buses, a Corolla missing a hubcap— they whiz past you, pausing only when the traffic light turns red, long enough for curious children to glance out of the window and stare at you, at your silly purple hair. You make funny faces back at them. They look away, embarrassed, or stare harder and the light turns green. The streets of Downtown Long Beach thrive with night life. Scantily dressed women and packs of young men herd themselves into night clubs. As the sun sets, building lights flicker on, like a game of Tetris.

 _L'Opera Ristorante_ glows orange behind you. Over the hum of city traffic you hear the faint melody of Clair de Lune. The door of the restaurant opens and the sound grows stronger, the piano rising, only to be drowned out by a laughing group of middle-aged couples. They stumble down the steps and walk past you, behind you, stopping at the crosswalk.

You listen to them banter about innocuous things _are George and his wife coming to Clara’s wedding_ ; _how is your dog doing, I know you said he wasn’t feeling good_ ; _no really, I lost fifteen pounds just so I could order that soufflé and not feel bad about it tonight!_ Meanwhile, you roll your eyes and finger the frayed edges of your kitchen apron, rolled tightly to fit in the pouch of your hoodie because it wouldn’t fit in the satchel strapped across your chest. Your phone vibrates in the pocket of your black slacks.

 

–        _Where are you?_

_DS_

 

Huffing in disbelief, you quickly type back a reply. The wind whips your hood off of your head. Your hair flies about your face and you tug the hood back up and scowl out from underneath it.

 

–        _Just off work. Too tired for anythin_

His response is immediate.

 

–        _I’ll pick you up._

_DS_

 

Your bus arrives and a few people get off, but just like that, you’re watching it disappear down the street. Two minutes later, a sleek, dark silver Avalon pulls up in front of your bench. The windows are tinted and you can’t see inside, but you know who it is. You heave yourself off the bench and trudge toward the car. If he wants to play this game, then so be it.

 Opening the door, you are hit with a warm blast of air and Billie Holiday’s _Sailboat in the Moonlight_ playing softly on the radio. You climb in and slam the door shut and buckle your seat belt.

 “And a good evening to you too,” Doc Scratch says, deep, rich voice washing over you, soothing you almost as much as the heated seat beneath you. You relax a little, but you’re still prickly. His hands are resting on the steering wheel and he pulls away from the curb, merging with into the left lane. You yank your satchel off your chest and shove it down at your feet.

 “Don’t be a child, Eridan,” Doc says.

 “But isn't that what you've always wanted, Daddy?” you ask, mouthing off and hoping you'll get a rise out of him. You watch his face for a reaction.

 Doc doesn’t say anything, just sighs. He’s dressed in a dark navy suit, the lapels undone and his tie laid across the back of his seat. He’s got 5 o’clock shadow and his starry-white hair has come undone from its usual strictly gelled style. The dark circles under his eyes make his face seem cratered and his cheek bones are far more pronounced than normal, as if he hasn’t eaten in days, which is ridiculous because you’d seen him during the weekend, a mere two days ago.

 He’s the image of exhaustion and to see him like this makes your heart pound. He’s so vulnerable right now. “Long day?”  you ask. You glare out the window and pretend nonchalance.

 “Something like that,” he says, sounding tired, but not mean, like he doesn’t have the energy to patronize you. He turns down 11th Street and drives to Main, where he parks in front of your small, but clean apartment complex. You grab your bag and climb out. Doc rolls the window down and you lean in.

 “Thanks,” you say.

 “You’re welcome. Anytime.”

 You’re not sure what you want to do. Concern isn’t part of your arrangement, nor are you obligated to take care for him. You’ve been doing this for four months, and it’s almost comfortable. Doc had asked for exclusivity, something you’d been wary of because you’ve dealt with infatuated clients before and the outcome had never been pleasant. But the results have been beneficial, to say the least. Money’s coming in, tuition’s being paid for, you’ve got extra cash for small luxuries like new pillows for your bed and canned food for Molly. You owe him a lot—that’s what it feels like, anyway—so instead of leaving him at the curb and going upstairs alone, you say, “Do you wanna come up?”

 “I thought you said you were ‘too tired for anythin’,” Doc says, mimicking your quirk, but he’s cutting the engine and pulling the keys out of the ignition as he says it.

 You raise your eyebrow and smirk. “I’m not. I could make you a cuppa and rub your feet or somethin. Completely vanilla.”

 “Have you anything stronger?” he asks. The two of you make your way to block 3B, where your apartment is located.

 “Scotch,” you say. Doc places a hand at the small of your back and you lead him up the stone stairs. “Brandy, perhaps. Real cheap stuff.”

 “It’ll do just fine, I’m sure,” he replies.

 

 *****

You end up letting him fuck you, but much later into the evening, after he’s nursed two brandy’s and agreed to shower with you in your cramped, dim bathroom, lit only by Roman candles and a single, bare bulb.

 Fucking comes almost as an afterthought. You’re both consumed by tiredness, by cloudy spots behind your eyelids. Lying naked on your mattress in the only room of the apartment, he slides into you with only a bit of lube, almost too easily, sighing at the heat.

 Something serene descends upon your writhing bodies; the pace Doc sets is more of a languid undulation. He kisses you, feathering his lips along the moist nape of your neck, and you reward him with breathy moans and tranquil sighs. This is as much receiving as it is giving on both of your parts. Doc’s arms are wrapped around you, securing you, and he murmurs _sweet nothings_ against your skin and, though you’re normally bothered by his talk, the shocking quiet and tenderness of your coupling stops you from pressing your hand against his mouth or biting his wrist. His hand wrapping around your cock comes as a surprise, and your orgasm washes through you, more like a gentle current and less like an electrical storm the way it usually is. You whisper _daddy daddy daddy please more come in me for me daddy_ because you know he loves it, lives for you like this, when you’re his good boy; you try so hard to be his good boy.

 Doc follows you, moaning his pleasure into your ear, his body curving around yours, arms tightening before relaxing bonelessly into the blankets. A few moments pass, filled with pants and sighs and soft touches. Doc shifts behind you, making as if to pull away.

“Stay,” you murmur, the word leaving your mouth before you even realize what you’re saying. Doc’s never slept over at your apartment, has never had the gall to ask. He knows it’s sacred to you and that you need your space. This is a first and you’re not insulted when you hear his sharp inhalation of shock.

 “Okay,” he says, stroking his hand down your side, from your shoulder to your hip. “But. Tissues.”

 You laugh, a light peal of noise that cuts through the peacefulness of the evening. It’s a sound filled with insanity and an explanation. You can only hope Doc understands.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a tumblr [here](http://motordives.tumblr.com)


End file.
